Overthrow Part II: The wrath of Skorm
by Lotrdude
Summary: Chapter 6, UP! With Avo's Tear, Tarus prepares the final step in his plan to forever conquer darkness.
1. The new empire

_Foreword: I HAVE RETURNED! Yes many of you have said things to the point of: DUDE WHY DID YOU END YOUR STORY END LIKE THAT! Well I was going to tell you about the part two at the end of part one, but because of technical difficulties it didn't work. But here it is. Now a bit about this chapter: There is a bit of boring stuff in books like character development and foundation and plot, but I'm afraid there will be a lot of that in part two. (That's a sarcastic way of saying part two will be better than part one) Also there is a bunch of (truly) boring yet essential stuff that needs to be covered, and most of that will be in chapter one so that its out of the way and we don't have to spend forever talking about how Tarus' government works. So read on, enjoy my genius, and review!_

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**PART TWO**

**Chapter I: The new empire**

"_Although his life had been a tormenting inferno that raged within his mind, Geoffrey had been able to withstand insanity until just this moment. Rage had ruled his life although he dreamed of peace. He dreamed that the hate, the anger had no place in this world; that he could live the rest of his years happily… but this was not so. He drew the knife, and with one fatal…" _Tarus was startled by one of his guards. The man, adorned in colorful blue robes intertwined with chain mail, rattled into the library where Tarus was enthralled in a book, "M'lord the horses are ready." Tarus sighed in annoyance as he set down his book entitled The Man without a Soul, and followed the guard out of the library. Tarus thought about the book he was reading as he and the guard passed through the winding halls of Bowerstone Manor, and into the entry parlor. It reflected Tarus' life greatly, although he wouldn't admit it to himself. This man had led a very dark life indeed, much like the sorrowful life of Geoffrey. Tarus straitened his cloak, and tightened his sheathe as the guard opened the large front door. The fresh cool air of the fall breeze quickly swept into the room, regenerating Tarus who breathed the scent of the world in deeply as he set out into his kingdom. Two other guards stood by their horses bowed low at the sight of their king. Tarus briefly smiled at the gesture as he walked toward his horse. The horse on which the king rode was a deep brown, almost black color. It was strong, physically and mentally, yet its eyes held a mysterious look, a wizened and thoughtful glare that pierced the very soul of men who looked deep enough into the steed's eyes. The horse was much like its master, who leapt up quickly into the saddle of the horse as he, and his companions set out on a weekly hunting trip.

The horse's hooves thundered down the old streets of Bowerstone as the five men rushed out of the town and towards the inner gate, and then on through the outer vicinity of the town. The horses continued their journey to the outer gate where the group stopped to await the gate's opening. Tarus looked at the massive gate as it slowly creaked open. The gate had areas that had been patched together with boards, especially down the middle where huge areas had been completely reconstructed. It was a slightly fearsom sight to behold with its jagged edges and thrown-together steel braces.This gate had obviously been attacked by either a troll…or a battering ram. Tarus had fleeting thoughts of the history of this gate. He reminisced about the old days when war was at this town's doorstep, and the now peaceful townsfolk were cowering in horror. Tarus quickly took hold of himself for the gate was now open. The horses rode out over the moat bridge and into the remains of Greatwood forest. Tarus was reminded again of the past. Every time he left Bowerstone and entered the charred remnants of the great forest his thoughts rode back into the horrors of the past. Tarus had become skilled at brushing aside his thoughts, but the forest had a presence about it that had been hard to deny. The forest was nothing but black jagged spikes coming up from the earth. The charred tree trunks speared the ashy air. Like teeth of some great beast, the fearsome spikes sat ominously; their fearsome aura blending with the soft wind to almost seem as if they were speaking. Speaking the past...the horrible past. The smell of smoke had never left the earth, and grey ash flew gracefully through the sky like snow. All were scars left from the past…

"I am Tarus," said the cloaked man on the podium. No one had ever seen this character, and honestly no one wanted to. His clothes were bloody and torn, and his face bore a crude scar that still bled. The people had crept out of their homes by the command of fearsome army of Tarus. Their faces were fearful, and they held their children close for fear of their lives. The townspeople had not seen the war that had recently raged outside of their homes, but they had heard the roar of battle tearing the air like a beast toying with satin cloth. Tarus had one last act to perform before the land was his. People were required to fill his kingdom. People provided economy, economy provided Tarus with his glorious kingdom. Tarus knew he must choose his words wisely or suffer the consequences of his new people's rebellion. This was the moment that all of Tarus' previous efforts rode upon.

"Do you know why I am here?" said Tarus as the people stood in fearful silence.

"To save you," murmurs filled the crowd. "I am here to save you from your burdens. To save you, out of pity. Pity for my people." The crowd looked curious "Surly you have not been able to bear the weight of Lady Grey's torment. I know that you, my people, have yearned for freedom from her countless and equally ridiculous laws. No personal weapons, extra taxes on almost everything." Tarus thought furiously on anything else he had to work with. Then an idea came, "And in addition... her mysterious personal life." Tarus paced as he cast radiant gestures with his hands, "You know of the disappearance of her sister?" some members of the crowd nodded, the governess had been accused of the disappearance of her sister, and the evidence against her was very convincing. "You, my good citizens, have been hidden away from the truth." Tarus thought hard on how to make the previous ruler of Albion look as terrible as possible, all the while keeping am extremely compelling aura. "You have not heard, however, of her alliance with the bandits." The murmurs grew louder. "Yes," Tarus continued as he tried to hide a smile. The people were slowly falling for it. "The bandits, the Hobbes, even some pirates," many in the crowds gasped. Tarus stopped suddenly. What he had just said would surely be his downfal. Surely the people weren't that stupid. Most of his army was pirates, some even bandits. He waited a moment while expecting the crowd to catch onto his mistake...but it did not come. It was too easy. Tarus regained his footing and continued. The speechwent onand revealed countless conspiracies and plots in which Lady Grey attempted to conquer other cities and falsely accuse Mr. so-and-so of a fake crime in order for him to be hanged. Eventually the town was in an uproar against the governess, but Tarus managed to calm them. "My good people. Out of the goodness of my heart I wish to free you from the torment Lady Grey has caused, and hopefully rebuild our land into a peaceful realm for all." He ended his hardly heartfelt speech in a humble glare towards the ground. He could now only wait for the crowds reaction. Surprisingly, the crowd erupted in a roar of delight…

A chill shook Tarus back into the present, and out of the labyrinth of the past. The sound of the people's cheers haunted Tarus now as he rode through the destruction of Albion. He felt the deep, scar that ran down across his face, from the bottom of his right eye, almost to his chin. He winced as he felt the jagged mark that still pained him as much as the day he received the received it.

It had been a long, long time since Albion had been conquered. The campaign had wound through the land demolishing the main cities of the world with an iron fist, yet slowly Tarus had begun rebuilding the world, shaping it into exactly what he wanted it to be. It had been his dream to have power, and now that he had it, Tarus would use his gift to the fullest. Yet the thoughts of conquests, conspiracies, and the shaping of worlds were for another time for hunting was the current occupant of time. Hunting had become a passion for Tarus, as well as books, and many other small diversions. He had no time for these pleasures previously, for his time was always occupied by quests, battles, and men in masks trying to kill him, but now he had the time to leisurely enjoy life.

The men dismounted their horses, andprepared for the hunt. Tarus drew a bow, as did the others, except for Bob who took an interest in falcon hunting. Bob's majestic bird had wide, brown wings, and talons that could pierce the flesh of any creature it wished to kill. Bob let the beautiful bird fly off into the forest to hunt for game while he observed its brilliant flight that wound through the tall forest. Tarus and the other two guards would have a contest to see who could strike down the most prey. Tarus always won, but the others had false hope that one day they could hit something. As he began to walk into the woods, Tarus seemed to switch into a different mode of thinking. He spun around to see a pheasant perched upon a nearby branch. The other guards turned to see what Tarus did, but only saw a puff of feathers. "Off to a good start" he said with a muted since of humor.

The hunt was a succes for Tarus, who wound through the dense forest, shooting quite a few good peices of game. Tarus continued the hunt and eventually shot two pheasants and a young boar. He could have gotten more, but if Tarus actually tried the world would quickly become devoid of the creatures. Nothing interesting happened on this trip. As always Tarus won, yet Bob and his Falcon came out with enough rabbits for a weeks worth of stew. The trip was somewhat short, but Tarus always enjoyed a bit of fresh air; for a day's worth of ruling Albion awaited him back at Bowerstone.

Once in the city, Tarus dealt with the many tasks presented him. First came the overall factor of the new Albion. The campaign of so long ago had left the land wounded, and these wounds must be mended. Bowerstone was the first to be fully rebuilt for it was basically the capital of Albion, and then came some smaller outposts that had dwelt in the woods. All of these had been utterly destroyed, but by the same speech given at the conquering of Bowerstone, and support from the converted citizens, the outposts accepted Tarus as their leader. This had taken two years to fully complete. Now the town of Oakvale was to be rebuilt. There were no survivors after the town had been demolished so long ago. It had been a massacre, and now the remnants of the city would have to be completely rebuilt and repopulated. This task was far into the future, but Tarus had time.

Today rebuilding would not have a space in his so called "Schedule". Today Tarus would go about his other rounds. Daily criminals and delinquents had to be dealt with. According to the current, temporary justice system, any criminals caught would spend one night in Bowerstone prison and then Tarus himself would decide further punishment. As long as there weren't many crimes committed, this form of justice was sufficient. Today there was only one felon, a young boy with a knife attempted to stab a man's scarecrow and allegedly tore off a hay-filled limb. Tarus would not tire himself with a walk to the prison for such a petty nuisance so he sent a messenger with this note:

_Dear warden,_

_YOU BLOODY FOOL WHY MUST YOU TIRE ME WITH SUCH_

_POINTLESS CRIMES! Confiscate the lad's knife and smack him over the head._

_-Tarus_

Today was painfully routine. After only two years Tarus had grow tired of ruling Albion. He didn't feel like a glorious ruler, or a tyrant with armies at his feet ready to vanquish countless enemies. In fact, his army was the only army, and even civil war was out of the question for his kingdom's population was extremely minute. Ruling the world was actually boring. In order to pass the time, Tarus decided to have a sparring match with his most trusted guard, Bob.

Tarus drew his sword, a small training blade that was stained and scratched with age. Bob did the same, and in an instant the match began. Tarus never lost a spar either, but thought that maybe he could teach Bob something in the art of war. Tarus began to fight without much enthusiasm at all. He came down with average speed to Bobs left and then the right, alternating back and forth in a repetitive motion. Bob did the same. They danced back and forth monotonously for a moment until Bob spoke, "M'lord I see no point in this training unless men in the field fight like a dead chicken." Tarus had not remembered ever showing Bob his true power so he thought today would be a good day to do so.

Tarus quickly stopped Bob's slow onslaught with a powerful force. Bob smiled as he pushed with all his might against the inhuman strength of Tarus. Tarus then twisted his blade, breaking the gridlock and sending Bob flying to the side. Tarus easily cut have chopped the guard in half then, but decided to toy with him. Bob barely managed to block the raging Tarus who flew at him with unmatched speed. The blows came like rain, so quickly it was as if Tarus was striking five blows at once. Tarus saw every opening to strike a fatal blow. He saw so many ways to kill Bob. A strike to the head when Bob's guard was low, or a slight spin could have put a hole right in his heart. Tarus was a master in the act of taking lives. He could kill thousands in a matter of seconds. His skill was almost inhuman. This was seen by Bob, who began to fear for his life as his blade grew hot from the beatings it was taking. Bob could see a look in Tarus' eye as he put all of his effort into fighting. It scared him. Tarus' eyes looked like a raging fire, a menacing glare that pieced him like a blade. Tarus was unrelenting as his blinding fury almost caused him to cleave his bodyguard's head in two. Tarus was becoming unaware of the situation and prepared a finishing blow. He brought down his sword with all the might in his body as Bob put up a relatively weak block.

As Tarus' sword struck Bob's, it made an oddly dull clinking sound. Tarus' sword then shattered. The steel fragments shot out in all directions, some sticking into the wall others narrowly missing windows. Tarus threw down the only remnants of his sword as he panted furiously. "Learn anything?" Tarus asked sarcastically. Bob fell to his knees with exhaustion, "Not to ask for instruction."

_please review! (it wasnt that great but i promise you'll love chapter 2! LOADS of blood and gore and fighting...all that good s__tuff)_


	2. The past, present and the wrath of Skorm

_Hello people of the earth! (order a pizza, this one's long) _

_AND REVIEW!_

**Chapter II: The past, the present, and the wrath of Skorm to come.**

The days dragged on like a plow in a field of mud as Tarus continued to deal with the petty needs of his followers. Yet as his unknowing mind debated over witless decisions, a higher power was debating his fate. In the darkest corner of Darkwood forest, where the souls of countless stay trapped in darkness, where the very earth pulses with fear, stood the mighty chapel of Skorm. Within the walls of this temple of evil, a dark power was arising. In the dark, a hissing voice rang out, "My lord, your servants await," At the head of the temple a large altar engraved with the eyes of Skorm, a ferocious symbol that resembled fear itself. The altar stayed, as it always was for a moment, grim and lifeless, then suddenly an odd cacophony of moaning and screams filled the temple. As if an evil welcoming ballad for the lord of darkness, the noises continued in a horrific song. The disciples who resided in the temple watched the eyes of Skorm with anticipation, when suddenly the eyes began to glow. The eyes shone with a brilliant, red glare, that seemed as pure evil. The desciples then bowed low in reverance. Skorm had arrived.

The disciples were silent with fear for a moment, but the head of the group managed to speak in his unnaturally deep and rough voice, "My lord, your servants welcome you to Albion," The altar remained still. The disciple spoke again, "What is it that you wish of us my lord?" The disciples looked at the altar as if it were Skorm himself, awaiting an answer from the king of darkness. For a moment, eerie whispers filled the room, then distant screams and other sounds of pain and suffering that came from unseen victims. The altar then began to shake, as did the entire temple. The quake shook everything; even the very innards of the disciples shook ferociously. What the disciples heard next was a sound so fearful; it could kill a weak hearted man. The voice was oddly deep and guttural. It became louder and quieter at different times, like a raspy wind, yet the voice always maintained its power. The voice of Skorm said this, "My followers," the disciples shook and remained utterly silent, " You know of the overthrow of Bowerstone?" the disciples could not find themselves breath enough to answer, but one managed to get out a hushed, "yes". The voice began again, " You know who it is that did this?" The same man answered yes. The disciples had seen Tarus when he came once to the temple, and other times when they were outside of Darkwood. But then it was hard not to at least hear of a man so great, and so powerful. "Then surely you would know how a simple mortal was able to do this?" the room remained silent. The voice of Skorm then rose to a furious shriek, "MY SWORD HAS BEEN CLAIMED YOU FOOLS!" thunder roared outside the temple, and wind rushed through the trees, tearing some from their roots. All were signs of Skorm's hideous wrath. A disciple, mustering up every amount of courage in his veins, spoke up, "But my lord, even the great Jack of blades was defeated by this man, we have seen none who are as powerful as he." The room was again silent, aside from distant sounds of anguish that emanated from the walls. Skorm's voice then filled the air, "There is one other," he said, "And this one will not fail, for he is the true keeper of my sword," A deep rumble shook the earth, "He is the chosen one,"

Suddenly a crack appeared in the stone floor. The crack quickly widened until a massive hole was opened in the solid rock. Out of the chasm shot fire and debris, along with moans from endlessly tormented souls. Then, out of the crevasse, rose a figure silhouetted by the flames. Skorm then spoke, "This is the hand of Skorm," said the ominous voice, "I give you...Vornoth." The sight was so entirely horrific that the disciples nearly went into madness. The chasm that led into the abyss quickly sealed, and as the flames vanished, the disciples set their eyes upon a thing so horrific and mutilated, words can vaguely describe it. The figure stepped forward. His skin was a pale gray, and was covered in scars where endless tortures and battles had taken their heavy toll. The eyes of the creature had a small hint of reddish glow, showing the pure evil within him. His face was contorted into a writhing glare of pure fury and hate for all that lived. This figure barely resembled a man, it was more a monster. "Vornoth has been trained in my realm, and by my hand." Said Skorm "He can not fail."

As quickly as it came, the presence of Skorm vanished. The altar returned to its normal state, and Darkwood resumed its mysterious, dark, yet quiet aura. The beast that was Vornoth took a short glance around the room. His entire entity was as fearsome as Skorm's. No one in the room dared to meet glances with this hideous creature. It stood for a short moment longer before opening his mouth to speak. The words of Vornoth sounded horrific. Each word sounding hoarse and crackled, "Skorm wishes for an army…now." The disciples looked around the room expecting an explanation. Vornoth looked down at the disciples for only a moment, "NOW!" he cried in a fierce and crackled shriek. The disciples thought it best to do something so they stood up and began to pace around hurriedly, all the while not accomplishing anything but further annoying Vornoth. "What are you doing?" he cried in anger. One disciple mumbled out, "Where should where begin my lord?" Vornoth looked out of the door of the temple and stared angrily into the forest of Darkwood, "Gather the disciples of Skorm," he said, "Our army will build from there." And so they went. In a fearful stupor the disciples of Skorm went about the land to gather the few followers of Skorm, lest they suffer the wrath of their new master.

Oblivious, Tarus sat in his room reading yet another book. Tarus found that he was fascinated with the stories that the ancient library of Bowerstone held, various tales of mystical lands, and histories that documented practically everything that had ever happened. He didn't know exactly what intrigued him so, but perhaps it was that he had been deprived of books, and stories for so long. He thought back again to the past, the wretched past that had so haunted him. The days of fire, destruction, death. He thought of how he had never been entertained. How he had only lived a horrific life of devastation, since childhood. He sighed as he realized that he was only feeling sorry for himself. How weak was he that he would waste time mourning for the past. He walked into his sleeping quarters where he looked ferociously through his things searching for anything to fulfill his boredom.

He looked through his small heap of practically useless belongings. "I own the world but nothing else," he said to himself. After what seemed quite a long time, Tarus came upon a chest. It looked quite ominous sitting alone, and high on the top of a shelf. Tarus thought for a moment as he looked intently at the Box. It seemed to somehow be calling him, its dark wood almost shouting out. He thought a moment, and then walked to the end of the room and shut his door sneakily. He paced again to the chest and placed it on his lap. As Tarus began to open the box he looked over his shoulder constantly as if he was a thief, sneakily stealing some expensive artifact. Tarus' mind felt overtly guilty, as if he were committing a heinous crime. It took a massive amount of determination mixed with curiosity, but he managed to slowly extend his hand towards the single golden latch. Tarus took a silent yet deep breath, and slowly he lifted the lid.

Inside the chest lay a sword; a blade like no other. It seemed alive. Its dark, jagged blade was engraved with ancient mystical patterns, and its hilt was blood red. The sword had its very entity that seemed seemed to pulsate with power, and emotion. As Tarus reached for the blade it seemed to fill him with power, and a lust for blood. He arose from his bed and held out the blade. He wheeled it around with tremendous speed making the blade sing. He spun the sword faster and faster, its power coursing through the very veins of Tarus. The rush of feelings and power were at their peak when suddenly... he stopped. He looked one last time at the sword whose blade was so closely intertwined with Tarus' dreadful past. He balanced his mind, and placed the sword carefully in the chest from where it came. He did not want to think about the sword, or its past.

It took a long time to calm himself, but when he had done so, he wondered once again about what should be done the rest of the day. He sat for another moment thinking of something to occupy the time. He thought and thought, but accomplished nothing for quite a while until finally he decided on going on a hunt.

The men assembled as usual, adorned their hunting gear and on horseback, before riding out once again into the blackened forest. Tarus still felt uneasy, but the events of the present were able to blot out the past. The men rode on as usual and stopped at the small clearing by which they always did. The husky yet loyal Bob spoke up, "I say men why not go further into the woods? I see much better game a bit deeper." The men thought a moment, and the descision was made by Tarus to go further. They eventually went a good three quarters of a mile deeper into the more dense area of Greatwood until deciding on begining the hunt near an abstractly shaped rock. Tarus looked at the odd thing for a moment. It was small and seemed like it was crafted to look the way it did. It was so interestingly chisled and shaped that it must have been manmade. For a moment, Tarus beleived it to have the likeness of a human face, but quickly stopped thinking of the thing, seeing how his companions were already off their horses and walking away. Tarus shrugged off the thoughts about the artifact and lept off his horse, brandishing his bow and tying his horse to a nearby tree. Bob was just releasing his falcon, its beutiful dance through the sky capturing the attention of Tarus. The falcon was adorned with two shimmering silver bells so it could quite easily be found. The bells jingled away and faded slightly as the falcon flew further and further into the woods. It was a pittiful sight seeing Bob watch his bird like a child would, unnaturally happily and with wonderment. He looked so happy, so content. Bob was slightly past his prime years. His hair, shooed away by age, was having to greet him goodbye, and wrinkles had begun to apear on his face. Yet despite his age, Bob was of young spirit, allowing for him to enjoy what remained of his life. Tarus half-smiled at the sight and took off through the woods.

He watched instinctively, waiting for any hint of movement. He scruitinized both the air, and ground, awaiting anything that drew breath. He concentrated on the leaves; their fall colors a clever comoflauge for a bird of the same color. He looked for any out of place shape. The curve of a birds back that wouldn't match the surroundings exactly. The birds error would be small, but Tarus would see it. He lifted his bow, and let fly one of his arrows. A small thud was his only applause. His first catch came easily. He tied the pheasant to his belt and continued on through the woods. He now wished for something that dwelled on the forest floor, perhaps a hare, or maybe even a fox. Foxes didn't make good meals, he thought. Not a fox, a rabbit.

It was quiet, except for the rustling leaves. Every time the wind blew, it would stir up a pile of leaves, at which Tarus would send an arrow. His wit was at its peak. If anything living were to move, it would have a short time before being skewered by an arrow. He was looking for any sign of a rabbit. Its color would not save it as long as it were on the ground. Yet as rabbits do not tend to share the qualities of birds, their speed is what keeps them alive. Tarus at last laid eyes on an exeptionaly large, light brown rabbit that was looking directly at him. As Tarus raised his bow the hare twitched its whiskers as if challenging the man who currently had an arrow trained on him. Tarus shot and quickly looked to see if his shot had met the target, but all he saw was a rabbit sniffling at his arrow. He looked only somewhat surprised, but fit another arrow on his bow. This time the rabbit tired of playing games with this human and took off through the woods. Tarus decided to pursue the hare, hoping that it would linger near its home, where other tasty morsels lay waiting. Not ever finding his prey, he studied the ground searching for any signs as to its wherabouts. He studied the leaves that were layered on the ground. He saw no tracks, and no signs of living prey anywhere. He continued to brush away leaves searching for anything. He the moved to another spot, crawling on all fours and scrutinizing leaves. He did this angrily searching so hard but finding nothing, until his hand hit something. He looked over at his hand and saw, what seemed, a large bird covered in leaves. What slightly shocked Tarus was the large black arrow jutting out of it. The arrow surely wasn't his for it looked crude and fearsome; it seemed more a weapon of war than a tool for hunting. He moved curiously towards it, and began to lift leaves off of the carcass. Tarus finished cleaning off the thing until, to his horror, he realized what it was. In his hands Tarus gingerly held Bob's falcon, its shining bells still dangling from its majestic talons.

Tarus was in disbelief. He slightly shook his head not knowing what to do, when he realized someone had shot the bird, and the person who had done so was in these woods, near Tarus. He cautiously rose up, and began to walk back to where the men had begun their hunt. Tarus had only just realized how cold it was. He felt uneasy as the chill of the coming winter air filled him. He constantly looked over his shoulder fearful of the unknown that was stalking him, but nothing was ever there. His fear continued to rise until he eventually realized who he was, the ruler of Albion. How could he fear anything? His fear died down, but only slightly. His pace slowed, and his breathing regained its natural pattern. As soon as he had calmed himself. His false sense of security was quickly abolished when he came to the area where the horses once were. Another horror met his eyes as Tarus rounded a corner and came to the area where the mysterious rock lay.

All the horses lay dead. Each one had been pelted with arrows and was covered with blood. Tarus realized the mortal danger that was so near. He grasped the small sword that lay at his side. Now even the sound of the wind had stopped. Nothing broke the haunting silence. The chill of coming winder increased even further as Tarus looked around wildly, searching for the attackers. He turned quickly, and then turned again, taking in everything around him. Then he stopped. Now he surely felt something, some kind of presence…that lay right behind him. He bent his legs slightly, and prepared to leap on the thing behind him. He drew a deep breath, and lept backwards.

It was only the moment he left the ground that he saw what was attacking him. It was a human, he could tell. The darkly hooded figure stood facing him, without any fear of its attacker. Tarus' blade was held over his head ready to cleave the man into as he flew towards the dark, hooded figure. The killing blow was moments away when the figure rose a gloved hand towards Tarus. All Tarus saw was a flash of light. The hooded figure had been trained in the skill of magic, for the force with which Tarus was hit almost killed him. The hooded figure looked down at the victim of his fury. Tarus was not that weak. He lay, face down, as if unconscious. As the figure approached him, Tarus burrowed within himself, looking for that deeply embedded thing…magic. The figure was reaching now for Tarus' shoulder, and at the exact moment that he touched his victim, Tarus let loose his power. A wave of force threw the figure almost ten feet, and into an oak tree. Tarus only had enough time to stand until the figure was rushing back towards him. The figures hood still covered his face, making Tarus still wonder as to the likeness of is attacker. The figure didn't give Tarus much time to think about this, as both opponents drew their blades. Tarus' small sword would be no match for the massive scimitar that his attacker drew. The figure's blade was as black as the one who wielded it, and was no doubt better made than Tarus' mere hunting blade. Nonetheless, Tarus rushed foreword, blade at the ready. He ran with all his might as did his attacker, closing the distance quickly before the blades first met. The dark figure was putting up a tremendously good fight, his blade spinning through the air like a dark shadow, yet as good a fighter as the hooded figure was, Tarus still didn't have to exert himself. Tarus brought his small blade down quickly on the attacker, the figures block only making Tarus' blade fly to the left, grazing his foe's arm. The figure groped his wound, but didn't cry out in pain, or grunt in frustration. In fact it was just now as Tarus looked down at his adversary, that he realized how silent the figure was. Tarus was slowly walking forward to deal a finishing blow to the dark being, but before he neared his attacker the figure dashed away. Tarus made a stifled laugh, but just before the figure wheeled around. Tarus readied himself once more for combat, but the figure didn't rush forward. Instead the hooded man lifted his arms to the sky. The figures arms began to shake, when suddenly the earth began to shake violently. The ground in front of Tarus began to open up slightly. Tarus was puzzled, and somewhat scared until he realized what was happening, but to late he was. Four mysterious looking beasts leapt up from beneath the earth in response to the dark figures summoning spell.

Tarus had seen these beasts before. Each one armored head to toe in thick shielding that made their strides heavy and loud. The creatures wielded massive two-edged swords that could cleave in two solid rock. These beasts were from another realm. Tarus had seen the creatures used by Jack of Blades, the man who had been responsible for Tarus' horrible past. He made the fiends into his minions, and commanded them to pillage the countryside. Tarus had seen these animals before, and knew of their power. Tarus had only a short amount of time to see the hooded figure run off into the woods allowing its minions to make short work of Tarus.

Tarus turned to see all four creatures surrounding him. He dug his feet into the damp earth ready to leap onto the first beast who dared attack him. One of the creatures leapt towards him, with a two-edged sword aimed directly at Tarus. Tarus saw this foolish move and leaned to one side letting the arm of the foe pass directly beside him. Tarus took a quick swing at the creatures limb attempting to cut it clean off, but when his blade met the thick armor of the beast, the blade did little more than agitate the beast. The minion that Tarus had just recently attempted to kill used the previously targeted limb to knock Tarus in the head. Tarus was thrown down to the ground. His head felt like his skull had been cracked. It throbbed horribly making Tarus dizzy, as well as unaware of his attackers. When he finally came to his senses he was looking up at his attackers. One had a blade raised ready to strike Tarus. Tarus rolled out of the way just in time for the blade to skewer no more than the ground. The creature grunted harshly as he angrily turned to kill Tarus. Now the beasts were angry, all four of them approached Tarus at the same time. Seeing no other option he dug into his mind desperately searching for some kind of magic. He tried and tried but couldn't focus. His head now ached painfully, so unbearably that he found it hard to think. With magic not an option he made a quick dash for his sword. The beasts rushed towards him, with blades aimed at skewering Tarus. But he still had enough consciousness to defend himself. He then made a dash for one of the beasts, but again hit their thick armor. He furiously hacked and slashed at the creatures, yet accomplished nothing. Now the minions were on the offence. All at once they flung their massive blades at Tarus. He furiously dodged them fearing for his life. He then saw an opening. He flew towards one of the creatures and plunged his blade into a very small area where the thick armor had one small crack. It was lucky but the small blade made it through. The beast shrieked an angry roar as Tarus retracted his blade and turned on the remaining three attackers. The battle continued with Tarus furiously trying to jab his small blade into the small exposed areas of flesh, but with Tarus' small blade, and pounding head it was near impossible. Now there were two attackers remaining who flung their great swords through the air with unearthly speed. Tarus had begun to feel exhausted, the fight had continued for to long. His head felt as if it would explode, and his small sword had been chipped far to much to function any longer. Tarus now began to lose consciousness. He felt the world becoming silent except for the blood pounding in his head. He found it hard to stand any longer, when suddenly, as Tarus began to fall to the marshy earth, he saw a man, clad in blue robes flying through the air towards the beasts. Tarus thought for a moment what would happen, as he lay unconscious on the ground. Would he be dead? Or saved by this man. He had little time to wonder if his life would end now or not, before he passed out. The world was now dark, silent, and at peace. Despite the wars and turmoil in the world Tarus was now at peace. His mind left to wonder in the world of dreams. Although unknowing that Bob, his faithful guardian, had defeated the remaining animals and was now taking his unconscious king back to the kingdom of Bowerstone, Tarus was at peace.


	3. A twist of fate

_Sorry for the delay, school's starting and stuff. PLEASE review. (many thanks to Sir dik-dik for his support.)_

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**Chapter III: A twist of fate**

When the first hint of consciousness entered Tarus' mind, it took only a moment for him to jolt out of bed with a panicking state of mind. He breathed heavily. He slowly remembered parts of what he last remembered: short glimpses of a tremendous conflict. When he collected himself, Tarus rose slowly out of bed. He bones creaked and cracked as if they hadn't been put into use for a long time. Once righted, Tarus walked out of his chambers and pushed on the door that led into the rest of his manor. He was taken aback at the sudden change of atmosphere. Outside his door, four of his best men were lined two on each side of the hall, while Bob hurriedly paced. All of the men stood at attention while Bob rushed to the side of his king. "My lord!" he exclaimed, as he grasped Tarus' shoulders firmly out of relief, " We did not know what had become of you!" Tarus wearily looked around the room, "What day is it?" he asked.

"Thursday, M'lord"

"How long was I in there?"

"At least three days."

Tarus rubbed his eyes, taking in all of this, "Why the guards?" he asked. Bob looked suddenly solemn, "M'lord…someone wants you dead." Tarus shook his head slightly, "That coward was merely a trifle." Bob shook his head in a different manner, "My lord, a trifle it may be… but we fear that those hooded men may be a suitable foe." Tarus questioned, "You saw another?"

"Three." Said Bob.

Tarus thought a moment more on the events, "It is not a mere mage lost in the woods then?" Bob shook his head in an uneasy manner, "No m'lord. They killed John, Horace, and Meynen." Tarus looked down at the floor at hearing the loss of his other bodyguards.

Bob continued, "The hooded men were elite warriors. Skilled in magic, yet filled with cowardice." Tarus remained deep in thought as Bob's words went on, "They conjured magicks not seen by any of us, and their swordsmanship was nearly equal to ours." Tarus spoke with a slight amount of anger in his, "But who are they?"

"We did find this," Bob held out an insignia. It was a deep, red, circular clasp, probably for a cape, that bore a dark black symbol. The symbol was one well known, and equally feared, the eyes of Skorm.

The ominous shape stared up a Tarus through menacing eyes. When he set eyes on it, Tarus had doubt, if only for a moment, "This means nothing. Those barbarians scurry all throughout the woods. They are cults without a leader. They amount to nothing." Bob did not agree with Tarus. He looked worriedly at his king, "M'lord… the townsfolk are worried. Albion has not been a safe land for many years, they are not confident of their safety as it is." Tarus thought intensely, "What do you suggest? If we build up an army we will terrify the town over a small band of cowards sneaking through the woods! If we are not sure of a threat then we will not act." To Bob, this reasoning made no sense, but he could not argue with his king. Tarus yelled in passionate anger, "Nay! We shall not defend. We will attack! We will hunt down those rats, and rid Albion of its vermin!" Bob looked down in frustration. He new better than to question Tarus

Tarus hurried to his chambers, slamming the large door behind him. When he emerged, he was adorned in dark plate-mail, strong, and thick enough to go into a fierce battle. He was adjusting a spiked vambrace as he walked down the long hall towards the front door. Bob had reluctantly prepared himself, along with ten other guards. The men grabbed their readied packs, which held food, and day's supplies. What caught Bob's eye, as he took up his brown burlap bag, was an odd piece that hung at Tarus' side. Instead of the mediocre blade he always had at his side, the king had an odd, yet equally grand blade. Bob had never before seen this sword, neither had any other guard. He felt somewhat uneasy as he stared at the blade. Suddenly his mind drifted into a dull stupor, and then filled with a flurry of emotion. He was awakened out of his state by the cold wind that rushed through the door and into the entryway.

With a massive leap, Tarus mounted his horse, which had been prepared at moments notice. The guards mounted their steeds as well. The other men violently tried to catch up to their king, who angrily kicked his horse, painfully digging into it's side. "Open the gates!" roared Tarus, who had lost much of his sense of reality. The gatekeeper barely opened the gate enough when Tarus rocketed through, followed soon after by his comrades.

As the men flew through the gate they had no choice but to instantly halt themselves, for the sight before them caught them off guard. Tarus sat still upon his horse, who breathed heavily its breath turning to fog in the chilling air. A cloaked figure stood before them, its dark grey robes were worn with signs of travel. The man carried a staff, its appearance was unusual and its purpose seemed to be more of a weapon than a walking stick. The figure that stood on the path before them said nothing either, the man merely looked on behind the wide brim of his large grey hat. Tarus looked down at the mysterious man, whose long grey hair and brim made him appear an elderly man. No one made a sound, except the wind rustling the blackened foliage. For a long time everyone merely looked at each other; the old man studying each man's face as the guards did the same. Tarus spoke, his voice sounding deafening in comparison to the previous silence, "Who are you?" was his simple inquiry. The old man slowly raised his head so that Tarus could see more of his face, "Who I am is not of importance," his voice had a definite twinge of age, but its very sound resonated with power. "What is significant is that you are in danger." Tarus scoffed at the mysterious old man, "The danger of which you speak will soon be slaughtered with my blade," Tarus held up his sword slightly. At the sight of Tarus' sword the old man grasped his staff tightly, "You oblivious fool!" The old man yelled, his voice's power growing. "That blade has been your undoing, and now you wish wield it like a child's play thing." Tarus did not listen to a word that was said. He kicked his horse once more, urging him deeper into the forest, yet the old man did not move. "I know of that sword," he said to Tarus, "I know of your sister." Tarus could not ignore those words.

He stopped his horse abruptly. "Jack of blades, Scarlet robe, I know of them all." Tarus stepped down from his horse looking at the old man in confusion. The guards remained on their horses in utter bewilderment at this absurd conversation. Tarus desperately wanted to say something, this was obvious by his gaping mouth, but words came to express his mind. Feeling obligated to speak he blurted "You… How…I…" The old man stayed where he had been, not changing his wizened face. "Your search is in vain," said the old man, "The followers of Skorm are spreading through the land. You can not search for them all."

"No!" said Tarus, "I will find them." The old man said nothing. Tarus eventually realized his childish attitude and calmed himself.

Tarus was extremely suspicious of this mysterious cloaked man who seemingly appeared on his doorstep. He was not, simply, a crazed elderly man, who had come ranting at his gate. He could tell the man was wise, far wiser than he, and no doubt this mystifying character was powerful. Tarus could sense it. The aged man had something odd about him; a puzzling aura that compelled Tarus to listen to him.

The cloaked man still stood, seemingly allowing Tarus to think about the encounter. "Why are you here?" Tarus asked, surprised at his clever inquiry. The old man slowly looked up at him, allowing Tarus to see his entire face. The man's face was covered in deep wrinkles, but they did not make him seem a decrepit old man, instead the old man's features made him appear wiser, and more powerful than with the large brim of his dark grey hat covering his face. The old man's eyes were as grey as his robes, yet, in the same way as his face, his eyes merely added to his compelling guise. The old man's eyes were deep, like a dark abyss leading into a cavern, yet somehow they seemed quite the opposite of a gloomy cave. The old man finally spoke, his words a prophesy, "You must live," said the old man, "You must lead this world to a better place than it is to become." Tarus felt proud of this, but he was somewhat confused. The old man began again, "This is not the time to chase the evil in these woods." The old man began to walk slowly, his walking staff pushing into the marshy ground, "You must prepare for war Tarus." Tarus was outraged, "I don't know how you know these things, but I will not allow you to rule my kingdom!" The old man continued to walk slowly, yet with a powerful looking stride towards the gate. "You can not pass!" said Tarus angrily, his words becoming harsher in his throat. The old man said as he continued to the gate, "You must Tarus. Lest we all parish." Tarus suddenly realized that the old man was no fool.

The past few minutes seemed a blur of confusion to the guards, who unwarily followed Tarus and the old man into the gates. Little did they know that the old man who had just entered their kingdom, was a twist of fate meant to change their lives, forever.

Tarus, the old man, and the guards made their way through the gates. Tarus and the mysterious man then headed for Bowerstone manor, where all would be revealed. The two went into the library. The library was a comforting place, lit by lanterns, which flickered in the draft. Heaps of tattered books lay in unorganized piles, books of ancient histories and legends of olden days. The room seemed a magical place. Here Tarus pulled two dusty chairs up to an equally battered table. "Your mind is nearly as clouded as the shores of Oakvale." Said the old man. He drew a vial of seemingly luminous green liquid from within his dark, flowing robes. The old man motioned for Tarus to drink the liquid. Tarus did so. The concoction felt odd in his mouth, yet the taste was not as horrible. Soon Tarus found he could think more clearly. He looked up at the old man, who seemed to fit in perfectly with the cobwebs and decrepit features of the room. The man's face was kind, yet within his eyes lay a grim sincerity. "I… don't…can't understand." The old man nodded in understanding. His comment strayed from the present, "Quite a collection you have." He said, motioning around the room, "I have seen many archives in my travels, but I must say this is quite the conversation piece." Tarus looked confused once again. The old man chuckled, "The Hobbe droppings did nothing for you then?" Tarus gagged for a moment until realizing the jest. "Who are you?" he cried with annoyance. "I am no one of importance. What needs to be discussed is the future." The serious side of the mysterious man came out. "What do you mean future? I have it planned; planned quite well if I must say." The old man sighed, "Tarus… it is difficult to explain all at once." Tarus nearly spoke out against this notion, but realized the conversation would carry on in circles for eternity. "What is it you want me to do then?" said Tarus. The old man took another deep breath, "You must repeat the actions you took… in the days of old." Tarus closed his eyes and went into deep thought. He though hard on his lingering memories. "You know better than any, the power of allies." Said the old man. Tarus did know the truth of this statement. "I am curious to know," Tarus' voice grew angry, "How do you know of my past so well?" The old man merely sighed, "That is not for you to know." "I will know!" Tarus shouted in response. The old man thought a moment. He then drew his staff, a gnarled old piece of dark, strong wood. "Tarus… there are forces at work in this world that are of a higher power." The old man then rose from his seat. "Those fools in the woods that you encountered are what they claim to be, servants of Skorm." Tarus rose out of his chair as well, curious as to where this would lead. The old man held his staff out away from him. He then closed his eyes. Apparently he was in deep thought. He began to mutter under his breath. Tarus looked down at the floor. Suddenly, a small pool of mist began to gather. Slowly the dark smoke expanded, covering almost the entire library floor. The old man then opened his eyes, "Tarus…behold your enemy." The pool of mist suddenly became clear. Tarus was taken back by the sight. The floor now appeared to be a landscape. Trees and paths covered the floor. On the far corner of the room he saw what appeared to be a dark, deep ocean. Then there was the forest and… "Wait! This is Albion." The old man nodded his head. A magical map was drawn out on the floor depicting, in exact detail, the land of Albion. "If this is Albion… what is that?" Tarus pointed to an area that appeared to be Darkwood forest. The old man spoke in a grim tone, "That is the work of Skorm." Tarus looked down at the destruction. Almost the entire forest was covered in flames. Within the dark fog lay a scorched landscape. Tarus leaned in to see closer, he could see hordes of dark figures working amidst the flames. "It's an army." The old man nodded in agreement, "That it is." Tarus looked down at the land. Hundreds of men, clad in dark armor, walked about. They seemed from various lands for the crowd seemed divided into separate groups, each with a large banner either held by a man, or placed on a stake. The sight was devastating Tarus' expression was dismal, "What allies are there?" he said hopelessly. "Nothing can stand against that." The old man waved his hand over the mist. It quickly disappeared leaving behind the dusty library floor. "We must have hope, Tarus. That is all that remains."


	4. Winter's coming

_ALAS MY FRIENDS! Rejoice I say unto thee! Break out the ale, have a flagon of mead, slaughter the fattest cow I SAY NOW I HAVE RETURNED! Woot! Its been TOO long, but Im finally back. What took so long is that accursed thing called "school", but hey, its winter break so here I am. Ive also taken my time planning out everything that happens, (by the way there is quite a lot of happening in this story so a lot of planning comes along too.) but I think I have a pretty basic outline of thetale nowso- tell me what you think. Read and review people of the earth, read and review._

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**Chapter IV: Winter's coming**

The moon still hung high in the sky, although it could not be seen. The veil of cloud that filled the heavens would let no light through, and hid the empty heavens from the view of onlookers. The currents that churned in the clear sea flowed through the clouds, and then crashed down upon the earth, chilling all that thrived below. Although desolate, the sky was at peace, whereas the toils on earth raged on. "My Lord," said an unnaturally deep, bone chilling voice over the relative silence. A hunched figure, wrapped in black robes that hid every inch of his body, except for his cold eyes, stood facing his master, his head slightly bowed. The eyes that sat in the black robes looked around themselves quickly, darting from scene to scene, taking in the dismal surroundings and all the while appearing lifeless. The man's otherwise exquisite robes had only one flaw, but it was an obvious one. On the robe's front was a huge tear, where a branch had managed to catch onto the cloth and shred a large portion of the fabric. Vornoth stood tall, silhouetted against a massive bonfire that raged like the demons inner fury. "What is it," he said, his voice cackled and maniacal as ever.

"My lord I have seen the one we hunt."

Vornoth and the servant stood on a raised hill amidst Skorm's army that was at the moment scrounging for their meals and mending armor and weapons. Their dark shapes were barely visible, however, in the glare of the central inferno

"Are you sure?"

"Y-y-yes my lord," Vornoth's servant felt a cold rush throughout his very soul despite the raging fire as Vornoth narrowed his eyes as if peering into a deep, deep well.

"Where is he, how did he fight…" Vornoth then turned and peered straight at his servant, his infernal eyes tearing at the servant's mind, "Did he have the sword?" The servant said nothing, only fell to his knees shaking violently and whimpering as he stared into the face of evil. Vornoth sneered; he walked briskly up to his servant and halted only half a pace to him. Vornoth then let loose a violent roar, thrusting his fist at the small man, sending him flying twenty feet and into the blazing fire. Vornoth growled like a beast in anger. A whispering, harsh voice then cut into his tormented mind, "We will not strike until the time has come, there force may be more than anticipated." Vornoth only shrieked again in frustration, "What does this man have that even the great Skorm fears?"

"DO YOU DOUBT ME?"

The whispering voice grew into a throbbing shriek, and a surge of fiery pain blazed through Vornoth's spine. His eyes rolled back into his head as the pain increased, and fell to the earth as it became unbearable. For only a moment the beast known as Vornoth let out a wimper, barely audible, of pain and helplessness. "N-n-n-no…my lord," he gasped, "N-never" The pain ceased, leaving Vornoth to, in silence and darkness, bask in his misery.

Tarus awoke, once again, in the library. The dusty room was barely lit by a small hint of light that trickled through the door. He reached to his forehead to wipe away his exhaustion; instead he brushed against the jagged scar. He sighed out of lack of sleep, and grief. He stood up, brushed the dust off of his cloak, and ambled towards the door. He walked through the winding corridors towards the front hall where he hoped to receive a breath of fresh air.

He reached for the massive door, and pulled it open. Tarus was nearly blinded by the fierce beauty of what he saw. The ground beneath him, the rows of houses, the outer wall and even the hills beyond…all covered in snow. The endless blanket of white stretched for miles, but its beauty was contrasted by the fierce winds. The bitter wind bit like a vicious beast at the small patches of Tarus' exposed skin. He could hardly bare it. Tarus closed the door behind him as he stepped out into the blizzard. To his amazement, the mysterious old man stood outside. His flowing grey robes flapped violently in the wind, and his face stared defiantly out at the storm. "It is an early winter," said the old man, "It is a bad omen indeed." Tarus huddled against himself in an attempt to stay warm. The old frail man stood like a statue, motionless and silent, with no intimations to the frigid temperatures. Tarus could barely stand the cold. He began to shiver uncontrollably. He did not go back inside, however, for he found this mysterious man so intriguing he could not leave his presence. "Why are you here?" Tarus said to the old man. The man looked away from the storm and met with Tarus' eyes, "Have I not already answered that question?" Tarus found it hard to reply for his teeth began to chatter incessantly.

The old man, realizing this, reached into his flowing robes and drew out a flask. He handed it to the feeble Tarus. Tarus looked at the flask thinking of the last concoction the old man gave him, but he put that fact behind him. He took a drink of the warm liquid. A steamy, tingling feeling flowed through his body. He felt warmer now.

Finding the ability to speak once more Tarus asked yet another question,

"I must know your name," he said, "It wont do for me to go calling you "Old man" for the rest of my life." The old man made an odd smiling gesture,

"Who said I was staying here the rest of your life?"

Tarus made a look of frustration. He had never thought of that, and the grave thought threw a bitter silence into the conversation. He did not know why, yet, but he found that he liked the old man. He had a certain air about him that Tarus felt empty without its presence. The feeling was almost spiritual, but Tarus decided to not dwell on the thought. The old man merely laughed in response to Tarus,

"They call me Mergoth, but that is the name mortal men have given me. I assure you I have no name." Tarus looked appeased.

"So you are a mage then?" Tarus asked, suddenly coming to his physical senses "That little map trick wasn't something every man can do." The old man looked amused,

"I suppose you can say that."

Taruslooked engrossed, "So… what can you do?"

The old man was cryptic as ever, "Many things."

Tarus sighed. He supposed the knowledge of the old man's name was all he could ask.

The chill picked up once again with a powerful gust of wind. "So Albion entire is rallying against us," said Tarus, "what are we to do?" The old man held his silence for a moment, "I suggest doing what you did last time this sort of thing happened." Tarus knew that the old man had something in mind that he would inform him of. "Last time this happened I had allies…but what allies remain?" Tarus felt a small hint of sadness. The only allies, and friends, that he had were drunks and rebels- bandits and pirates. However none of these remained. The men of the north who dwelled in Knothole Glade and Hook Coast were his enemies. They had been allied to Lady Grey, whose order Tarus had so recently decimated. Seemingly opposing this obvious fact, Mergoth said to him "Perhaps the people of Knothole Glade can help." Tarus laughed on the inside. _Knothole Glade eh? I've pillaged that town more than once._ Tarus was shocked. "Bloody hell. We're all gonna die." Tarus began to walk inside, but Mergoth stopped him with his words, "If we will die, at least die fighting, even if it is against Knothole Glade." Tarus was taken back. He tried to devise a plan, something to help him out of his doom…but there was nothing. His usually clear thoughts were obstructed by helplessness. He said nothing, only walked inside Bowerstone manor to bask in his library with thoughts of the end. He sat there, amongst the piles of books for a long, long time. He tried to begin a new story, perhaps something about hope. There was nothing.

Again he found himself in his dusty sanctum, sitting with no hope or thoughts of future.

Then, Tarus had a revelation. "THE SWORD!" he said shouting aloud. He ran to his chamber in a flurry of emotion. He ran to the chest, without any hesitation whatsoever. He took up the box, threw off the lid. There lay the accursed thing. It sat there staring at him. It was once Tarus' source of power, but now it was nothing more that the source of his troubles. He took up the blade, and with the sword in hand he ran as fast as he could down the corridors until he came to the front door. He burst through to see Mergoth standing where he was so many hours ago. "This! What do you know of this?" said Tarus holding out the blade. Mergoth gave a slight nod as if he understood all of Tarus' problems. "Aye… The Sword of Aeons…Truly a fabled weapon in this realm… how did you get this?" There was a long…long pause… Tarus had no words to say. The pain was too great to relive. Although nothing was said, Mergoth seemed to know Tarus' thoughts. "Tarus, I have some important knowledge to tell you." Tarus looked grave. "But we must speak in a more secretive location." Mergoth led Tarus into Bowerstone manor and through its many corridors until they came into a dark, damp wine cellar. The smell of mold and rot permeated the air, and the only light came from the open doorway, which was quickly closed by Mergoth with a slam. Now all there was, was darkness. A thick black curtain pulled over everything. Suddenly a bright glow made Tarus squint and cover his face with his arm. The light emanated from Mergoth's staff, which he held high to light the room. "The Sword of Aeons- is a mystical blade, forged by a dark magic…and not the sort of things an everyday mage dabbles in…the magic that forged this sword…" Mergoth found it hard to utter the words as Tarus leaned closer, "…this sword was forged by the dark one, your enemy…the one who wrought everything evil in this world… I speak of Skorm himself."

Tarus was taken off-guard. His insides churned as he glared at the blade, which he held up to see. The sword looked more menacing than ever before. The lives it had taken flashing through Tarus' mind. The millions of innocents, the mighty Thunder, and…his sister. He wept. He wept for all that was lost, all that would be lost…and all that was left in this world. "Now Tarus," said Mergoth in a voice perfectly neutral and firm, "I tell you again, what you do is your choice, including what you do with this sword." Tarus said nothing, his hints of weeping were wiped away by his rough hand. After a long while Tarus thought about his two options. To finally rid himself of the enemy he would need the sword and its omnipotent power, but then again, perhaps just as many troubles would vanish if he were to merely destroy the blade. "I…I will…" Tarus could not make up his mind. He sighed deeply. Mergoth glanced slightly at the floor and turned away, opened the cellar door, and walked out, the light of his staff leaving with him. The last ounces of hope seemed to trickle out of reach ever faster.

The day continued with Tarus wearily performing his leader's duties. Today someone was arrested, but the crime was more serious than stabbing a scarecrow.

"Robbery!" exclaimed the jail-warden, "A right good example of it too. Four 'undred gold pieces from ol' Monty's shop." Tarus and Bob stood side-by-side glaring at the warden, a thin, gangly man with a missing tooth and a brain as intelligent as a lump of cheese. Tarus looked up at the overcast sky, while Bob kicked some snow with his boot. Both men were bored out of there minds. They stood in a hay-covered area that was bordered by a barn to one side, and a stone cell block on the other. They were on the path that lead throughout the prison area of Bowerstone, and although this was one of the less severe areas of punishment, the cell block remained grimy and old. Tarus could not see the prisoners inside from his angle, but he could see portions of the rotting wood doors, and he could only wonder at the interior of the cells. "What's the punishment for a thing like that?" asked Tarus. The warden looked up at the sky as he thought a moment, and not coming up with an answer consulted a small booklet entitled, Felony and Fine. Bob leaned towards Tarus and inquired in a hushed tone, "Erm…who hired this fellow?" Tarus leaned back and answered in the same fashion, "I have no idea." Both men snapped back into a standing position when the warden appeared to find the answer. Happy with his accomplishment of finding the correct fine, the warden exclaimed, "aha! The punishment 'll be thus-" The Warden smiled and slightly chuckled at himself for using such long words such as "thus". The warden then noticed the two staring men and resumed, reciting from the booklet "The offending party will repay what was stolen along with one thousand gold pieces and, or, death. Their choice." Tarus and Bob shook their heads in unison. "Lets see him then," said Tarus. The warden nodded and walked over to a stone cell block. Taking a jingling mass of fifty or so keys from his patched pocket, the warden fumbled with the lump of metal desperately trying to locate the correct key. At times like this, when boredom seems to bore into ones mind in an effort to kill someone, people tend to notice subtle, yet sometimes genius things about life or there surroundings. For instance Bob was noticing that the flames in a nearby campfire seemed to have exactly seven shades of yellow, and the hay that scattered to road in these parts of town tasted quite good if sucked on long enough. Tarus was about to solve the meaning of life, and Bob had managed to find the perfect piece of hay when the warden finally exclaimed, "Aha!" once again, giving the notion that he had found the key. The gate made a deafening screech as it opened, and a loud clang as it hit the stone wall. Tarus saw the warden make a gesture at the prisoner and accompanied it with "come on out you." The prisoner, who obviously would not comply, still remained hidden to Tarus. The warden finally lost his patience and walked into the cell grabbing the thief harshly, as Tarus and Bob could tell by the rough sounds coming from the sounds. Suddenly the warden flew out of the cell door, not with the prisoner, but with a black eye. The warden, now angry, ran in head first, determined to apprehend the criminal.

Tarus had expected a grizzly, disheveled man, perhaps sporting equally grizzly clothing and an equally grizzly attitude, but the person who walked out of the cell with the now- severely-beaten-but-triumphant-warden, was not a horrid man…but the most beautiful womanhe had ever seen. As soon as he saw her he felt as though he were in a dream, not like the nightmares that had, until now, plagued him, but like the best vision he had ever witnessed. Words can not describe exactly what he felt, other than dumstruck bliss.He thought for a moment that he had gone over the edge mentally, perhaps his meaning of life ideahad left his mind philosophically entrapped…but it was not so. She was real. Her l ong brown hair, pulled back by the cloth the warden had used to gag her, her face glowed despite the dismal, frigid surroundings, her skin- dark yet radiant, and her eyes, which said all that her mouth could not, locked with Tarus'. Both the woman and Tarus seemed to speak to each other without words as the warden lead her up to the two men in order for her fate to be decided. Although she was beautiful, Tarus looked away as reality crept back. He fought his urge to look at her, for he had never before been so attracted to someone, never felt this way. Tarus only noticed for a moment how odd it was that someone so beautiful could turn up in his jail cell for thievery. It was especially shocking despite all the pain, and bleakness that life had contained so far. But now a new light had entered Tarus' world, a light to hopefully brighten the darkness that consumed the world. He looked at her once more, unable to break the spell that she had cast over him. "Well?" asked the warden. Tarus found his mouth unable to move. The woman stared back.

Bob decided to be the one to break the bond. He kicked Tarus sharply on his shin making Tarus wince and grope his injured leg. "Er…yes, well." Tarus shook off the pain and thought a moment. "May we speak in private?" he asked. At the moment, he had no idea why he said his idea out loud, but he was soon devising a plan to follow through with his remark. The warden looked confused, as always, but he eventually handed the woman over to Tarus. Now she was standing in front of him, glaring up with her deep brown eyes in a blank expression, telling none of her true feelings. Tarus managed to gesture towards the shoddy barn near the jail cell, where he led her into the dusty structure. Once inside, he found his mouth to be adamant, once again, to speech. "So…er…god…It's your decision like he said…so…what'll it be then?" Tarus nervously scratched his head and swayed from side to side as he spoke, while a brief smile spread across the woman's bound face. "Oh, right." Tarus noticed the gag still around the woman's mouth, and removed it gently, accidentally brushing against her smooth cheek in the process, a feeling that he treasured. He finally managed to remove the cloth, and waited for her to speak. "What say you?" he asked again. The woman's eyes finally gave away her feelings; it was a feeling of grief. She seemed lost, and said nothing, her eyes searching the floor for answered. Tarus realized for a moment how much this woman was like him, lost and saddened. Tarus was about to say something to comfort her but instead she blurted out, "How can I pay you with gold when I have none? The money is for nothing more than food and shelter m'lord, please I have nothing." Tarus looked away from her. He pitied her deeply, but had no idea what to say. "Its not like me to steal really, never thought it would come to it, but I cant think of anything else." Her face, though beautiful, was filled with grief and suffering. They both stood for a long while until finally Tarus came to a conclusion. His idea was not in the least bit logical, or pragmatic, the end result was made out of nothing but love. "Go." Was his simple reply, "Take this," Tarus then went even further with his absurd idea when he reached into his pocket and drew out some gold coins, as if the ones she had stolen were not enough. The woman was confused, almost shocked. She said nothing, only pushed Tarus' hand back to him with a gentle touch. In the back of his mind he felt the urge to say something of his love, but that was out of the question…at least not now. He lead her from the barn and out to the two men, who stood quietly, as bored as ever. "Well? What's it then?" asked the warden. "She decided to pay, and I have already been given the thousand gold peices," replied Tarus. "May I have the stolen money also?" he added. The confused warden thought a moment and then reached into his pack to withdraw the bag of money. He handed it to Tarus who then walked towards the woman. He discretely led her behind the barn where he gave her the bag of money and whispered into her ear, "Take it, ill repay Monty later." She accepted the generosity happily with a wide smile. "And stay out of trouble," he said as they began to walk down the path to town. "I'll try," she said, giving back a small kiss on his cheek and a kind look that he would never forget. As Bob and Tarus returned to the manor, Tarus exclaimed, "Oh bloody 'ell now I have something to stay alive for."

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_Just some things to clear up- The man Vornoth throws into the fire is the mage that fought Tarus in the woods, the jagged scar is the scar that Tarus received from Thunder in that o-so-epic duel and remember Tarus didn't know this was Skorm's sword until just now . Oh yeah- "He wept" just sounds so cool I had to put it in there. _

_And by the way, 1 seda 1 are you a fellow that goes by the name of "Brandon"?_

_Thanks for your interests in my story, and I promise ill crank out the rest of the story more smoothly and with less interruptions ._


	5. The final reminiscence

_The longest, yet I beleive greatest chapter yet. I strongly feel this to be my masterpeice although much of it had to be cut out till the next chapter, but read and please review. Next chapter All fighting and what you guys love._

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CHAPTER V: The final reminiscence

The day was almost at its end. Frost clung to the ornate windows of the library that allowed Tarus to look upon the outside world. The mystical portal to the fields of white put him into a trance like state. Around him lay the usual cluster of tattered books and parchment; some with polished, scarlet leather bindings, and some with nothing but thick, torn paper. No matter their cover, all books within this library's walls were of some kind of importance. The smell of the room smelled of an ancient dampness. The stench was not distasteful, only mysterious. It was an odd odor, one which is hard to describe, all that can be said of it was that it felt of the essence of age. It was an aura that permeated the wealth of knowledge in the room, and made it that much more magical. A table sat in the far corner. Upon it lay the only light source; a half-melted candle, flickering with the draft. The flame caught Tarus' eye next; its flickering fury reminding him so much of battle, and war. The dodgy motion; ever changing, and always darting here and there with an arbitrary poise. The light cast violent shadows to dance on the wall. The shadows, who danced like savages lusting for blood, danced with a passion as strong as the flame that birthed their dance. Some would have feared this dance, but not Tarus. He saw it as a sort of art, a kind of diversion into the magical world of this library. He looked again at the flame. As he looked at the candle even longer, he realized another similarity. This candle, violently beautiful, reminded him again of the woman he had seen at the prison. She had made an imprint on his mind. A fiery thing that although harsh in some ways, was comforting in others. His thoughts could not turn away from her. The intensity of his thoughts being reflected by the raging candle. Odd was this feeling. Completely alien to Tarus. Only the mind of a warrior could take such interest in a candle.

This was why he came to the library; the magic that it held.

He then drifted off to sleep; slowly, silently, and without care as to the world outside of the library's walls.

He felt at peace…for a moment.

There were two kinds of places within the caverns that were Tarus' mind. There were places of wonder, of peace, of order and reason. And there were some places, dark places, that raged in the depths, tormenting him like a fiery ember embedded in his skull. He had a dream. In this dream, Tarus found himself standing, alone. Around him was nothing, he could see no walls, no floor or ceiling, no structure or physical structure at all. He looked uneasily to try and take in something, anything, but there was nothing, but darkness. He heard nothing either, except the beat of his heart and the breath from deep within him moving rapidly. He finally turned his senses toward himself. He glanced down at himself and took first into account his clothes. They were simple, a peasant's garb, with no royal adornments as he had been accustomed to. Then, suspecting something, he reached up with his hand towards his face. His fingers brushed against…nothing, only soft, un-scarred skin. The mark that the great Thunder had given him- no longer there. His heart rate increased, dramatically. There was _one_ thing Tarus feared. It is what all men fear. The one thing that has terrified us since the dawn of life and time. Tarus feared this as much as any human- the unknown. Tarus was about to lose his wits when a familiar sight comforted him. From the darkness came a mysterious figure. He knew her from the calm aura she emitted, and walked towards her to greet his long lost sister. She did not return the gesture. She only said one thing, a simple greeting not reflecting the importance of their encounter. "Hello little brother"

Tarus knew those words, those painful words. It all came back to him, all of it. The bandits, the fire, the death, the pain, Maze, the guild, training, merciless training, the victories, the quests, the arena, the bandits, scarlet robe, Jack of Blades, and the choice. The choice. The scenes had played in his dream, rapidly. Now came another scene. Tarus once again looked down at his garments. Now an array of bloodstained plate mail. And his sister once again. Tarus could not bear it again. He would rather die than see his sister killed once again…by his own hand. "Not again" he muttered to himself as he fell to his knees. "Rise little brother." She said. Her voice was calm, and hauntingly so. "No more shall you fear your past." Tarus was confused. He stayed on his knees. "This," she said gesturing around herself, "Is what you fear. Your choices, your life. No more hero. Face your fear. I do not hold remorse for your decision, in the end, the means will be justified." Tarus rose. "The end? What end, the end when I die? When the world falls finally in the grips of evil? When there is no reason left?"

"You will see."

"See what?"

"See that fate is on your side."

"Fate… there is no such thing-"

"But there is." Tarus' sister's voice almost rose past the point of being calm, "Little brother there is so much that you can not see, but if you have faith in what little hope is left, you will triumph."

"Fate…faith… this is nonsense."

Theresa sighed, "That is your choice, and I pray you make the right one."

He awoke.

The night still lived on, and so did the candle. Now less than an inch of wax, and small point of light emitted from a gram of burn embers. He sighed, deeply. Tired of thought and talks of fate, faith and destiny, he called out. "Bob." No response. "Ho there, any ale left in the cellar?" He stood up, and headed out into the hall. Bob sat in a chair near the library, flames dancing on a nearby torch. He snored somewhat, locked in a deep sleep. Tarus awkwardly approached him. Bob awoke from his sleep with a jolt. "To the tavern, Bob."

Tarus donned a thick, black cloak with a large hood so as to conceal his identity, and headed off down the main corridor. His footsteps echoed as he walked briskly past the raging torches that lit his path. He approached the door and opened it. As soon as he did, he was met with a wall of freezing air and snow. The storm had grown in power, it raged in the darkness, blowing drifts of snow across the path. He pressed on through the snow, ice cracking under his feet. It had been a long, long time since Tarus had left his manor and associated with the common folk. Perhaps too long. Nonetheless, today Tarus would get out of his home, in all of its mystery and magic, and come back down to the life of the common folk. They did not bother to go to one of the elegant taverns or inns of Bowerstone north, instead, Tarus walked onward into the poorer, southern half of the city. They passed the gate and headed down the stairwell leading to the city, and headed towards the tavern without a word. Tarus reached for the door, and as he pulled on it, a layer of ice broke off the wood, making a loud shattering almost audible over the raging winds. The tavern fell silent as the ominous strangers entered the warm refuge. Tarus reached behind him to shut the door and the Tavern resumed its ambience. Tarus raised two fingers to the bartender and handed him a small heap of coins. The two received their ale and sat at a dark and shady table in the far corner. It was a dismal place, especially at this time of the night. This was the time for the sad and the lonely to drown their troubles. A bard sat in the corner, embracing his mandolin, playing a most mournful tune that he played with a deep passion, and skill. The tune glided on the air, and was carried throughout the halls and minds of the tavern. It was a sad song, yet beautiful beyond measure. The patrons sat in their separate tables, looking longingly at some abstract piece of furniture or the frost-covered window. No laughter filled the tavern as earlier in the night. The room was dark, lanterns and candles burned low. Outside, the storm could still be heard. Wind stirred a nearby home's shutters making them crash violently in the night. Tarus took a sip of his ale. He didn't come to get drunk, only to reflect, think. He thought of his sister, her words. It was a puzzling dream, one which stayed in his mind, festering. Bob merely sat and looked about the room, somewhat uneasy about Tarus and the situation. A few empty stares made their way towards Tarus. Glares from around the room glanced at the hooded stranger from time to time. Bob had only a little concern for Tarus' safety. Tarus cold most likely hold his own if conflict arose, but if the ale got to him, Bob would be the first line of defense. For now they merely sat however, no fighting, no death. The song of the bard continued. Lyric-less, the tune carried on, helping Tarus' thoughts glide smoothly with the music. The gentle tune eased in and out, haunting the souls of the patrons deeply, yet enticing them like the siren's sweet song.

After half an hour of sitting still and silent, Tarus spoke. "Bob." Bob tore his mind off the bard, who continued his song and listened to his master. "Yes m'lord." "Do you know who I am?" "My lord and master m'lord, what else?" Tarus sighed.

"I am the scum of the earth dear Bob." Bob shook his head and muttered his consolation, but Tarus interrupted. "I am. I am that which dogs feed upon. I am that which ravens circle about. I am he who burned Albion to this!" Tarus thrust his head into his arms, yet did not weep. Bob looked confused. "I did this Bob. Dearest Bob. I am he that set aflame this good earth. I allied myself with scoundrels! I pillaged the land. And now I dub myself king." Bob understood. He put a hand on Tarus' shoulder, and listened. Tarus told his tale. The life he had led, the pain he had endured, the evil he had committed. Bob knew, however, that Tarus was not such a person, at least not anymore. Tarus ended his tale with bitter words, "But I regret every moment of it, Bob. Every single second. I hate it all." The bard's song continued its mournful tone, serenading Tarus' tale. It was only now that Bob knew the truth. But he did not reject it. "What's worse is that I happen to be so important, so key to this world. I matter now, and I don't deserve an ounce of it... why." Tarus was silent again. Bob then found it his turn to speak, "You deserve it, m'lord. More than anyone. And do you know why? There aint a reason in the world other than fate 'as chosen you... and fate aint nothin' to argue with." Tarus grasped some understanding. He rose; the bard's song coming to its finale. Tarus opened the door, and headed back into the cold, out into the peaceful quiet. "I think it is time." said Tarus. "For what?"

An angry shout broke the quiet. Tarus turned around just in time to see three men dressed in black, hooded robes running at him with their swords aimed at his throat. Without hesitation, Tarus reached to his side and withdrew a small dagger. Once again, he had been caught off guard with a mediocre weapon. Nonetheless, he lept forward at them, brandishing his blade in midair. He came down on the first one, his blade sinking deep into his attacker's skull. He spun and kicked hard at another, and used the dead assassin for leverage as he shot himself at the third. The assassin with a dagger in his head fell to the ground with a thud. A standoff occurred, the two assassins stood on either side of Tarus, and Bob was slowly approaching the three. Tarus shook his head at Bob, gesturing not to come closer.

The two assassins ran forward, and in response, Tarus thrust his fists to either side, breaking a nose, and sending the other cringing on the ground. Bob tossed a sword to Tarus, with which he executed both attackers. "Are you alright m'lord?" "Yeah." Tarus seemed very calm despite the fact that he had just been attacked in his own city by a band of assassins. "We should head back to the manor, there could be more." Tarus began walking briskly through the heaps of snow. "Damn right there are." He thrust out his hand from which a bolt of lightning flew through the air. Thunder from the bolt shook the air violently. A body fell out from behind a building, smoking from Tarus' attack. Then he began to run. Both of them darted through the town, Bob looking about nervously, Tarus keeping his eyes fixed ahead. As they approached the gate, Tarus called out, "Gatekeeper! Ho!" The gate did not open, nor did the gatekeeper reply. There was only silence. Bob wheeled around to see no less than twelve men dressed in traditional assassin attire running at them. Tarus motioned for Bob to get behind him, to which the guard replied, "What's the point of having a guard then m'lord?" Tarus didn't respond. He ran into the fray, wielding Bob's sword. His first blow sent two men flying, but the assassins soon surrounded him. Without armor, or a decent weapon, it seemed hopeless, but not with Tarus fighting. He quickly summoned inside himself magical power and sent the entire group flying back with a bolt of force. Tarus rushed to the nearest assassin sending a downward blow through the chest, finishing the assassin. He wasted no time leaping back beheading another, and then spinning back killing yet another. The battle lasted only a minute before the twelve assassins lay in pieces on the ground. Tarus wiped a splatter of blood off his cheek as he walked back to Bob. "Might want to clean that off." He said, handing the guard his bloodstained blade.

Eventually, Tarus found a way to climb up the north side wall and managed to get himself and Bob onto the inner wall. Atop the gate they found the gatekeeper, an arrow between his eyes. "We have to get to the manor m'lord! Now. There could be more." Tarus sighed. "Very well."

Tarus led a mournful trek through the snowy landscape. He walked, hunched against the cold, his mind thinking for one last moment about the past. A final reminiscence.

And then, revelation.

It was a day indeed when Tarus made the descision. He quickened his pace, and headed to the manor. They were met at the door by Mergoth, who stood surrounded by four assassin's bodies. The three stood silence for a long time. "Mergoth." Mergoth adjusted his posture and stood tall, as did Tarus. "It is my will that you rid us of it. For once, and forever." Although its simplicity, the scene was beautiful. The snow fell softly now, and the wind hummed in unison. For once, the blackness of the clouds even parted. Evil, although unknowingly, shuddered. The words were spoken. Not another word was said. Mergoth nodded.

Soon, Tarus, followed by Mergoth and bob, walked a slow journey out of Bowerstone. They passed the cobblestone streets, and stepped among the bodies of Skorm's assassins. They continued, until they came to the gate. Bob walked atop the structure, and released the lock. Tarus stood defiant to the wood. Its braces tormenting him no longer. The gate swung open to reveal the forest, equally uneffective to Tarus. Through the forest they went, throughout the trees and the underbrush, and into a place which Tarus had never before seen. The walked down a path outlined only by a mysterious stone every few steps. They came to a large hill, covered in damp moss. They went around it, and as they rounded the side they came to what Tarus least expected. A Demon Door! For many years, the people of Albion had thought them all to be discovered, yet this one remained shut, its face angled to the floor with weariness and age. Vines grew up it, entangling it's ancient marble. "You must do the deed yourself Tarus." Tarus approached the door, leaving Mergoth standing among the trees a long way away. The door remained still. "Awake." yelled Mergoth. The door slightly lifted its head, and parted its ancient lips, causing a great rumble. "The day comes." The door's voice was aged beyond anything Tarus had heard, yet the sound was still pleasant in a mysterious way. The sound was like a whisper, yet it carried like deep grumble drifting of into the trees and beyond. "Let me look upon the face of the savior." it said, moving its massive head higher. Tarus was puzzled, "Savior?"

The door nodded, closing its eyes solemnly, "Indeed."

Tarus spoke again, "I come only to rid myself of that which brings me pain."

The door wheezed in a way that sounded vaguely like laughter, "In this situation, you are not the one to deem yourself savior or not. Fate has done the deed."

Tarus looked only more confused, "So what do I do, just...give you the sword? Here, take the bloody thing."

The door spoke sterner than before, "What you must do is believe!"

The yell flew through the air, it shook the trees, and soon vanished in the distance. Tarus yelled back, "What is this talk of fate, and belief. I only want to get rid of this accursed thing!"

The door sighed, "I was the first Demon Door." it said. "The ancients build me long...long ago to counteract the only force they knew would outlast them."

"Stupidity," said Tarus with a sneer.

"EVIL!" The door's voice was now louder than thunder, its yell shaking the ground beneath Tarus.

"EVIL AND ALL THAT COMES WITH IT TARUS! ALL OF IT! I AM THE BEGINNING OF THE END, THE END WHICH YOU ARE TO COMPLETE! YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TARUS! YOU!"

Silence.

"It is you."

Tarus breathed deeply.

The door nodded.

With a deep roar, the door cracked open. After millennia, the ancient stone cracked and jerked on its hinges, the darkness within finally seeing the dull midnight light.

Tarus walked inside. Within the chamber he found a mold of the Sword of Aeons. Beneath the imprint was a small plaque, engraved with ancient runes of a language long forgotten, and unknown to Tarus. He drew the blade, and looked at it with a flurry of passion. The memories flew back to him, the memories of the sword's power, and the victories it had given him. "Enough."

Tarus set the sword in its place, within the chamber, and away from the hands of evil.

As he walked out of the room, the gate began to sigh and creak again. It slowly began to close, and when it finally closed, the crash heard spread throughout the forests, across the seas, even to the heavens.

The face of the door then closed its eyes, solemnly, but with a small smile, as if its purpose was complete. The face faded into the stone, never again to reveal itself.

As they departed from the sacred place, Tarus asked Mergoth. "There was an engraving inside... do you know of it too?"

"It is a long lost language. No living man but I know its words."

There was a long pause. Mergoth appeared as he would never speak of it.

He spoke.

"May you fulfill fate's call, and defy that which plagues the light. For you are he that is chosen, a right not bought with riches, nor earned with might. Only fate has bestowed this gift, and it is yours for the taking."

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_Well, i liked it. Now a bit of clearing up and behind the scenes action!_

_First of all- (brand names cencored for whatever reason this certain IM service has to sue me) i just realized you get censored Satelite Radio on censored Instant Messager, so i listened to rennaisance classical music the whole time i wrote this which really uber'd up my writing..somehow. So i made the Bard in the Tavern to represent the middle-ages inspiration_

_Second- Noone really knew who Tarus was until now, when he admits his past to Bob. Bob, nor any of the guards, were ever with Tarus on his crusade, so this is a pretty big turning point._

_Third- The Final Reminiscence had nothing to do with Final Fantasy, in fact,i never noticed the link until now._

_Fourth- Dear Incogito, The Oracle was mistaken, Skorm is higher in the god Hierarchy than the oracle and he has the power to cloud the oracle's judgement. Easy to gnore though._


	6. Avo's Tear

_Hey everyone. If you're reading this, you are either someone i know personally, or a really amazing person. Along the way ive made, and lost, alot of fans. Ive learned alot about writing. The first chapters of Overthrow one...were terrible. It was like more than a year ago. Since then ive made alot of progress, and i hope it shows. So to the readers, i give you my thanks... sob_

_Anyway, schools almost done, and although i wont get to write 'cause of study for finals, butit wont be long till summer. _

_This story comes painfully close to the expansion of the Fable story- Fable: The Lost Chapters, HOWEVER: i came up with all my ideas BEFORE i played it. Almost all of them. The name of the sword (avo's tear) and its location changed after i played it, but the rest is all my idea- i assure you. SO- on with the show. Read, Review, and thank you._

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Chapter VI: Avo's Tear

In the ancient days of the guild, there were three heroes. These were the most powerful to ever learn from the guild, and the greatest to ever walk the ground of Albion. Powerful; pure of heart they walked the globe. Yet despite their legendary powers, their iron wills, their might, their limitless glory, they remained mortal. When they lay on their deathbeds, they decided to impart Albion with one last gift. On their dying day, the three managed to combine their skills, as well as their pure souls, and forge them into a instrument of their will. This creation, a combination of their very essence, was a sword. The blade was crafted by only the greatest of smiths. Its hilt supposedly of pearl and diamond; its blade smelted by dragon's breath. After the blade was forged, and the heroes gave it their blessing, they gave it a name: Avo's Tear. It was a symbol of hope in the world of ever-growing darkness, a blade that fate was to give unto one worthy of leading the power of light to vanquish evil. Decades passed, the makers of the sword had been long perished. Now the people of Albion awaited their hero, one who would finally lead them out of the night. This hero never came. The sword, and its makers, where eventually buried where they began their journey, in the Guild of Heroes. And there they remained, even as Tarus dreamed of them. When he was in the guild himself he had heard of the three. They were the symbols of what a hero strived to be, and were legends in their very existence. The Tear, however, had managed to fall into mystery. It was only through Tarus' love of knowledge that he came upon it. Once in the library, he went to a small tattered book which described the tale of the sword and its creators. He fluttered through its pages briskly, skimming over the legendary words, taking in the tale, and the mystery.

Both men's footsteps echoed rhythmically, almost musically on the hard stone floor. As they passed each torch, a hushed roar broke into the song as Tarus and Mergoth skulked through the hall. They rounded a circular corridor, and paced up the winding stair to the library. Through more corridors and paths they went. Almost a never-ending labyrinth, yet one that filled the beholder with awe. They came finally to the door; the portal leading to the magical sanctum. All within him came to mind. He remembered the past, including his dream, and his revelation in the tavern. A silence approached as both stared at the door. "The time is nigh, Tarus." said Mergoth. The time for thought of past torments was now over. "Indeed." Tarus adjusted his poise, standing taller than before. He opened the door, and with a climactic presentation, the library came into view. "Show me my enemy. Once more." Mergoth let a small smile spread across his face. He knew Tarus' plan.

He repeated the ritual he had performed before. He then thrust out his staff and chanted the ancient words. The mist appeared, covering the books and parchments. The dusty floor now a smooth sea of mist. The mist turned silver, then clear. The previous image of Greatwood forest was no longer there however. Now Tarus looked on a familiar sight. Many years ago it would have been a comforting one, but now it troubled him deeply. Tarus looked down on the guild of heroes. Its charred walls now a base of attack for his enemy, and just a ways away from his city. The gates stood tall, yet malicious. Their gates ravaged by the battles that sprawled in its midst. The walls, equally void of life. The once majestic towers, that stood as a testament to order and reason; now a lair for the scum of the globe to bask in their perverse ways. The statues of heroes of old, once white and gleaming in the sun; charred black. "Damn them." said Tarus, placing his fists against a nearby table. The small inch of hope began to resign. The will he had built up previously, took only moments to wither away. However, when this last plan was on the edge of abandonment, again he heard the words in his head. _Have faith, little brother._ He closes his eyes, and sighed. "Very well. Still, it must be done." Mergoth nodded, seemingly reading Tarus' mind, seemingly seeing his plans, his thoughts. "What you are doing has a risk Tarus." Tarus went to a nearby chest. "So is going about daily tasks." His thoughts went back to the assassins. He opened the compartment and withdrew a sword. Not as majestic as those he had previously held, nor as mighty as the Sword of Aeons, yet a sturdy device powerful enough to hew down anything which Tarus should encounter. He slowly put his hand upon the blades hilt. The hard steel like a mighty column of stone. The sword he held was the one that smote Jack of Blades on that fateful day. The blade that Tarus himself thrust into his mortal foe. Once again would this blade strike down evil. "And if we let it stay so any longer, the world may never be at peace. Enough time has passed as I sit here in misery. It is now, Mergoth. Tonight the tides will turn."

"Very well Tarus. Go."

And off he went. First into his room, in which he gathered his equipment. He traveled lightly, only wearing a light mail suit and a black, hooded cape. He then weaved throughout the hall, and with a final nod to Mergoth he walked briskly out of the front door.

The night was dark as pitch. The snow had stopped falling, yet the clouds remained a thick veil over the stars. Perfect conditions for Tarus. He walked softly, gathering his thoughts, bringing his training into mind. Images flashed into his head of technique and practice. Thoughts of maneuvers and weaponry. He stepped into the stables. His horse stared at him through the darkness.

Out he rode. With a nod to the gatekeeper he was off. Into the black forest he flew. The black trunks whizzed by like a sea of crows flocking towards a cornfield, anxious to clean the ground of its fruit. Tarus kept his head low, letting the wind blow around him, keeping his eyes trained on the path to the Guild of Heroes. The horse galloped rhythmically under him, panting furiously as it pushed ever harder against the ground. Barely anything could be seen in the dark, but soon, a row of bright lights broke into view. Through the trees Tarus could see an approaching line of light, flickering back and forth in the distance. As he approached the gates, Tarus looked up at the Guild, its walls covered in crude torches lighting the path for the guards that patrolled the fort. Tarus felt a deep sadness as he slowed his horse to a trot and looked upon the sight. This was once his home, and the only stable thing in his life. Now it seemed a heap of rot and festering evil. A mound of waste and remnants of food lined the outer walls. Emptied buckets of ale thrown about the wall. Broken glass, and carcasses of already gnawed on game; all manner of filth had been tossed out from the city. Tarus had stopped his horse and sat atop the steed, eyeing the seen from a distance.

His goal lay within this city of destruction and evil. It would not be an easy task either. Guards with covered faces, and crude halberds paced the walls, as they spoke in a crude tongue to each other. It was hard to tell what lay beyond this wall, the only hint to the interior was the stench. The smell of rot and burning flesh came to Tarus' nostrils. It wrenched his insides to think of what caused this smell, but he shook off the thoughts not wanting his imagination to wander into those depths. His horse however, would not tolerate the smell. For a moment, the steed shook its head and pounded the earth nervously. The small noise alerted one of the patrols. Tarus froze. He slowly pulled his hood down over his face, and crouched low in his saddle hoping his presence wouldn't be noticed. Eventually the guard resumed his walk, yet the man, or creature, had heightened its guard.

Tarus slowly dismounted, and tied his horse behind a cluster of small trees. He then walked, stealthily and half crouched. He eyed the guards with primal instinct, anticipating his plot to infiltrate this facility. His steps landed softly on the forest floor. He followed the tree-line that led almost to the wall, until he came to the point of empty land. He had come to the tree-line, where he would be forced to make a dash to the wall. He eyed the patrols. It was a disciplined route. The men hit their mark mechanically, pacing in a way that allowed only an extremely small window of opportunity for Tarus. He waited until he could anticipate the next move. Eyed the guards with primal intensity, and animal-like instinct. The moment came. He breathed deeply and lunged out into the field. He dug his feet into the ground as hard as he could, almost flying through the grass, trying with all his might to make it to the wall. He was only paces away when a vat of waste came flying from the opposite side of the wall. It spread across the earth before him, catching him off guard. He felt his foot slip slightly. He quickly fell, his head slamming into the ground. His head ached deeply, and his ears buzzed loudly. Almost unconsciously he dragged himself the last few yards to the wall. There was no doubt in his mind that the guards had heard him. Tarus was sure he had grunted in addition to the noise caused by the crash. Colors and shapes flashed past his eyes. He shook his head, ridding himself of the shock.

A single guard had taken notice of the small disturbance. He walked to the edge of the wall cautiously, eying the darkness before him. Tarus looked up at the guard from the ground, awaiting the painful moment when the patrol would look down at him. Tarus could do nothing but wait. Silence crept up like an assassin, bringing with it a painful uneasiness. Tarus pushed himself closer to the wall, squeezing up to the cold, hard, stone. He tried to go closer to the wall, almost trying to burry himself into it. The muddy ground coated his body, the frigid earth chilling him, while the situation chilled his insides. He closed his eyes, almost wincing, awaiting the moment. Yet it never came. The guard decided not to pursue the noise he had heard. Instead he spoke something to a fellow guard. The words were foreign, and made a sound painful to the ears. It was a harsh tongue, and at the same time filled with muted malevolence. Both guards let out a small laugh and then turned, climbing down the wall's stair, and into the guild of heroes. Tarus sighed in relief. It had seemed that he had carried the same lung-full of air for an hour, and had finally let it out in relief.

Now to get over the wall. Tarus had known, and remembered this place his whole life. Every inch of the guild was imprinted on his mind. It was with this knowledge that he had planned his attack. Aside from the gate, he knew, there was only one other entrance into the Guild of Heroes. Tarus knew of a collapsed segment of wall near the south end of the fortress. Tarus hoped the wall would be rough enough to climb on, and headed silently along the area to see. He snuck, with his back pressed against the stone, and carefully edged his way along. It took him only a short while to come to a wall with a deep crater etched into its side. Jagged stones and eroded rock, coated in damp moss, were piled high. Tarus took a short look to either side of the collapsed wall, and lept onto it. He dug his hands into the side, feeling the groves and edging his way up, still unsure of what he would find within the walls. He came to the last stone on the wall, hoped for the best, and leapt onto the parapet.

He was taken back at the sight. Tarus quickly dropped to the floor in order to remain hidden, but he found it was hard not to from the shock. Within the walls of the former Guild of Heroes was not a mere army, nor a horde of men. It was a sea, a seemingly endless mass of black shapes; moving silhouettes in the darkness, highlighted only by massive fires surrounded by the remnants of a half-consumed feast. Tarus was so shocked, his mind didn't seem to comprehend the sight. It was the largest band of troops he had ever witnessed, or even imagined. Not only could he see men, but giants, creatures, siege weaponry, and more. Men dressed in ragged clothing, adorned with foreign garbs and weapons. Creatures who crept about, speaking in the same scratchy voice that the guards used. Weaponry never seen on Albion; massive polearms, and mighty steel battering rams upon which a group of the shadowy men ate their fill upon. Tarus now saw; Skorm was not toying with this onslaught. This was truly a force to be reckoned with. Surely the army would be able to overthrow Bowerstone. There was almost no doubt. Tarus' hope grew thin. Nonetheless, a stand would have to be made. He carefully eyed the bottom of the shoddy wall. No obstruction was seen. He pulled his cloak tight to the body, and leaped. He hid the ground hard, it was a ten foot drop at least. As soon as his feet made contact he threw himself to the wall. There was little light to reveal him, but nonetheless, flickering orange light danced near him ready to shout his name to the army of Skorm. Tarus carefully maneuvered along the wall past the light, and wove through the waste and unused weaponry that scattered the inner walls. Tarus soon realized that he would have to come excruciatingly close to the dark army. Soldiers and guards, talking amongst each other, walked throughout the complex maze of weapons and troops. Tarus found himself throwing his body to the ground, ducking behind a pile of longword in order to avoid capture.

Capture was truly the worst of his worries. The list of things that could go awry was endless. He couldn't stop the thought that remained branded into his mind. As he sat behind a demolished store house, waiting for another patrol to pass, thoughts of torture went through his head. He remembered a time when one of his many mortal enemies had locked him in his dungeon, inflicting pain and torture with an ungodly ruthlessness. Tarus could only imagine what sort of pain Skorm could create. Not only the torture worried him. For once, Tarus felt true feelings for his kingdom. What would become of Albion if he failed. Surely death and destruction would follow if Tarus were to be captured. Tarus took another look out at the black sea. He believed the world entire would look this way if he failed his task, making failure all the more impossible. Failure was not an option this time, he thought as the patrol past.

He continued his journey through the guild in this way, hiding and sneaking past any guards he encountered. Finally he came to the main structure of the guild. The building which once held the sleeping quarters and various libraries. The area closer to this building was less saturated with Skorm's minions. Tarus dashed the last few yards to his objective, and took shelter behind a wall; only a few paces from Avo's Tear.

Avo's Tear lay in the grave of the heroes that made it. In a decorated ring of square sarcophagi, was the sword. It lay in the cold hard earth, but the way it was rumored to be proclaimed remained somewhat of a mystery to Tarus. Tarus' plan was to approach the burial site and see what happened from there. The only obstacle in the way of this plan was the large ring of soldiers currently feasting almost ontop of the tomb. It was here, almost standing on his objective, that Tarus found his first difficulty on this journey. The group of men numbered about ten. They were dressed in black robes, as was most of the army. They spoke the same harsh tongue, and ate the same pungent food as did most of the army. But these ten were not the only ones that worried Tarus. It would be extremely easy for these troops to alert the entire army, which meant definite defeat. As he sat behind the small wall, he withdrew his sword. No matter the risk, he would have to do this. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like a raging river. He breathed deeply. It was now that Tarus would strike the first blow in the war to come. He lept over the wall. The unsuspecting men lept to their feet dumbstruck. Before Tarus hit the ground he cleaved a skull in two. Blood flew through the air. A splatter of scarlet fell across his cheek. He then spun, his blade shredding through the robes of another two. Now on his feet he fought madly, unleashing flurries of blows. Sparks flew from iron striking iron. Shreds of armor were flung through the air. All but two had perished by his hand. These last men eyed Tarus through hooded brows. Both were apparently the most skilled of the group. Suddenly fearing that these two would alert the rest of the compound, Tarus lept forward. His blade had no sooner entered the first man's chest that the other had landed a glancing blow on Tarus' shoulder with a fearsome mace. A crack from deep in his bones echoed through him and into Tarus' skull. The blow threw him to the ground, reeling in pain. The large man raised his weapon with a growl. With his last ounce of will Tarus flung himself out of the way, and fell a deep wound into his foe. The massive man hit the ground, the force throwing dust and debris out from under him.

Tarus gaped for breath and clutched his shoulder in pain. He fell to the ground and breathed deeply, trying to ease his suffering through will. It barely worked. The only thing that made him rise was the feeling of hard stone. He crawled to his feet and looked upon the graves before him. The three finest heroes lay before him, finally at rest in the earth. He found himself bowing slightly in reverence. These were his idols during childhood at the guild. Their life filled with mystery, power and all the feeling in between the two. It was here that his plan ended. Now what, he thought. He stepped forward, and examined the stone sarcophagus for clues. He found none. He stood amongst the bodies of his enemies. Their stench permeating their air, their corpses illuminated by their campfire and chilled by the freezing winter air. Tarus had no abilities to aid the situation, he only looked on at the tomb, waiting for something; perhaps another gift from fate.

Fate was once again generous. "Tarus." said a voice. The voice was a combination of many sounds. All of them peasant, yet all of them haunting as well. Tarus said nothing. "You are pure of heart." it said, "Although the past has left you with many scars. Yet deep within you there is something." The voice spoke as if it were examining Tarus, calculating his life. It made Tarus somewhat uneasy, but the splendor was enough to remove this feeling. "We are who you believe us to be. The heroes of old, and we have long been seeking one to carry the torch into the darkness." Uneasy silence. "It is you, Tarus." a light grew in the silent night. It hovered in front of Tarus, brilliantly it shined. The voices then ceased. And the light instantly vanished. A sword lay at his feet. He knelt down. He gripped the blade's cool hilt. It was a mystical weapon to hold.

Avo's Tear, like the Sword of Aeons, filled one with power. Yet this blade was unlike Skorm's. It did not fill Tarus with fury and malice. Instead, Tarus suddenly felt at peace, in a serene feeling of focus. Sounds became more acute, as did his other senses. This was indeed a blade worthy of legend. He cast his other sword aside, took a last look at Avo's tear, and placed it at his side.

Feeling more at peace than before. As if nothing really mattered, he began his trek back the way he had come.

He had no sooner left the shrine of the three heroes, when a loud shriek filled the air followed by a deep rumble. The sound was as if the globe had split in two. Tarus' feeling of tranquility quickly vanished as he hit the ground eying his surroundings like a hawk. Hoping he had been seen, he lunged at the nearest wall, nervously awaiting his fate at the hand of Skorm. Nothing more occurred. Tarus realized the shriek did not involve him, but he was nonetheless intrigued by its source. The sound did hit him hard. It was bone chilling, making one's insides churn, but despite the temporary fear it had caused, Tarus eagerly followed the call. The dirt was hard, and cold under his feet as he walked. Snow still lay on its surface, and ice filled its abscesses. Haunting silence filled the void in absence of the shriek, even the wind held its tongue. As always, the air smelt of rot and filth, yet it seemed more stale than before. It was a truly uneasy feeling, and Tarus could sense it deep within him. He paced through the guild, following the path toward the shriek. Eventually he wove his way to the main hall of the guild. Its entire far side built completely open in a welcoming display. The edges of the wide gate were worn, some scorched, but it remained a beautiful sight. This was where the piercing noise came from. Silently, in the deep of night, Tarus began the walk to the great hall. No encampments lay here. The entire side of the guild was eerie, the noise from the opposite end could be heard over the roaring sounds of the far off encampment. He was about to take a step into the hall when a burst of energy filled the air. It was violently sudden.

He barely noticed it, for the speed of the instance was mind bending. All his mind perceived was that a blinding light engulfed his vision, all sound within his ears was deafened, and he was struck hard in the chest with a force of unthinkable strength. The next thing he knew, he was laying sprawled upon the frosty earth ten feet away. He rolled over onto his stomach. He had been unfortunate enough to land on the same shoulder that had only moments ago received the large mace wound. He breathed deeply, collecting himself. His ears rung loudly, his vision was blurred. Still he had not gotten over the shock. But as he regained consciousness, and let his eyes glide upward to the hall, his mind needed no inner help collecting itself.

Before him was what can only be described as a light. A light whose gleaming fury was brilliant enough to light the whole of Albion as bright as the sun. The fury would have done so too, had it not been inside.

It was a dismal way to illuminate things. The light that spread through the guild was a deep red, like the blaze from a low fire. As it shined, the creatures in contact with it seemed to feel uneasy; specifically Tarus, who could barely withstand this awesome occurrence. The snow seemed to melt, if only slightly, the trees grew only a shade darker, and the beyond was silent in fear. As his eyes did their best to adjust, Tarus watched with horror at the chaos brewing in the great hall. A literal pillar of fire was visible through the frenzy of light, and perhaps just as frightening, a silhouette kneeled within it. From his angle, Tarus could see the figure of a man. His definite features impossible when viewed against such brilliant light, but defiantly a man. His shadowy face, bowed in reverence. The scene was utterly terrifying. Even more so were the occurrence to come. Still squinting in response to the unearthly situation, Tarus watched from afar.

Then came the voice. "THE TIME IS NIGH." The sound shook the soul of the earth itself. It was the voice of Skorm. The silhouette could be seen speaking, but his words went unheard from Tarus' position. After the silhouette spoke, the voice came again. "BECAUSE OF THE WIZARD! WE CANNOT STRIKE WITH YOUR MEAGER FORCE. I GIVE YOU FIVE DAYS. ONLY FIVE, AND THE SWORD MUST BE IN YOUR POSSESSION. I TAKE IT YOU NEED NO MORE KNOWLEDGE OF THE PUNISHMENT OF FAILURE. " The silhouette spoke once more in response.

Tarus sighed. There was no time to waste. Five days would be barely enough he thought as he rose to his feet. He wheezed from the damage due to his encounter with the soldiers, and this unholy blast of energy. Holding his deeply bruised shoulder he ambled off into the distance. Into the silent dark Back the way he had come, and in the same manner. Time ran short. He knew this.


End file.
